Sometimes you feel like you are part of a story with billions of authors. And they all have ideas of their own which they insert into the text. Some of these ideas seem complimentary, and some contradictory.
And then time goes by, and the story seems to take shape. And then other stuff happens that seems to come totally out of left field. This blows holes in the story, but then the authors scramble to fill the hole. And then we all pretend that there is a coherent story after all.
But the story is big, so big, that even coherence is transcended or maybe just besides the point. So there are big parts of our story that we all pretend don't exist. Kind of like the black holes or anti-matter particles out there.
And some of us can get our heads around black holes, but then there are some holes of unknowing we sink into without explanation. These holes in the narrative are vast and important, but we ignore them for the sake of the continuing saga we tell ourselves...